[CEO's Cheat Sheet]
Stress Test: A planned simulation testing a system or infrastructure under extreme conditions to determine its limits and durability.
Asset Forfeiture: The forced confiscation of an opponent's assets or property, usually as a form of compensation or conquest.
Heavy Machinery: Large-scale machines (such as artillery) used to accelerate mass industrial processes.
The blizzard winds howled fiercely across the Northern plains, but the thousands of troops lined up outside Winterhaven's borders remained completely unaffected.
Sir Vaelin, Duke Malakor's proud elite knight, rode his giant snow wolf with a hardened face. Beside him, Inquisitor Zephyr sat on a white horse clad in golden armor, radiating a blinding holy aura. Behind them, fifty elite Paladins of the Church of Light and five hundred of Duke Malakor's cavalry stood ready.
However, the center of attention was the three Mana Stone-powered siege cannons pulled by dozens of slaves.
Despite bringing enough military power to level a small city, the troop formation was currently halted in absolute confusion and shock.
"Inquisitor..." Sir Vaelin gulped, staring forward in disbelief. "According to the intelligence maps, this is where the ruins of Winterhaven Castle should be. But... what in the world is this demonic wall?!"
Right in front of them stood a 15-meter-high, pitch-black Obsidian Wall stretching across their entire field of vision. Its surface was so smooth it reflected the enemy troops, and at its peak, ice spikes as sharp as spears gleamed deadly.
Zephyr narrowed his blind eyes, sensing the incredibly dense magical fluctuations from the wall.
"Filthy defensive magic," Zephyr hissed with blind fanaticism. "The Cursed Prince must have used the blood of the refugees to build this black barrier! Sir Vaelin, bring the magic cannons forward! Destroy this cursed wall in the name of the Light!"
Atop the cold obsidian wall, three figures stood looking down with vastly different expressions.
Sylas Thorne pushed up his glasses, noting the number of troops with his quill. "Three mid-tier magic cannons, five hundred standard cavalry, and fifty Paladins. Their running costs must be enormous just for getting here."
Beside the Elf, Revista stood tall like a bloodthirsty god of war. The silver-haired man had unbuttoned his coat, letting the minus-twenty-degree air hit his broad, heavily scarred chest. The black Abyssal veins pulsed slowly on his neck. He couldn't wait to jump down and tear out the hearts of those who dared threaten this territory.
Yet, between these two dangerous men, Stephanie stood with utmost elegance. Her arms were crossed, her sharp eyes staring straight at the three giant Magic Cannons below.
"Sylas," Stephanie called out casually. "Are you sure your magical firewall can withstand cannon fire?"
"Madam Director, are you doubting my S-Class credentials?" Sylas smirked cynically. "Those those old cannons won't even scratch this wall. Calling this a Stress Test feels generous."
"Fair enough," Stephanie smirked. "Because I want those three heavy cannons intact. If Ornn dismantles them, we can modify the iron cylinders into automatic paper-printing machines, and the Mana Stone reactors can power our glass factory twenty-four hours non-stop."
Down below, Sir Vaelin raised his sword high.
"FOCUS MANA! FIRE THE CANNONS!"
BOOOM! BOOOM! BOOOM!
Three bright blue energy balls the size of carriages shot toward the obsidian wall at terrifying speed. Their destructive power was enough to level a rocky hill in a single strike.
Duke Malakor's troops were already cheering, preparing to charge through the breach that would be created.
However...
BZZZZT—ZRAAAASH!
Right before the three deadly energy balls touched the obsidian surface, a network of golden magic circles erupted from within the wall. High Elf Rune formulas spun at lightning speed, forming a web of light that literally caught, swallowed, and neutralized the three cannon blasts instantly.
There was no explosion. There was no vibration. There was only a soft hissing sound, like a drop of water falling onto a hot pan.
The cheers of Duke Malakor's troops died instantly. Total silence. Sir Vaelin nearly dropped his sword.
"T-That's impossible..." Zephyr paled, his holy aura trembling. "Not even the Main Cathedral's Holy Shield can absorb three artillery shots at once without cracking!"
Atop the wall, Stephanie smiled in satisfaction looking at her System screen.
[Ding! Stress Test Successful. Obsidian Wall Integrity: 100%.]
"Our defenses are verified," Stephanie said elegantly. She turned toward Revista, who had been growling lowly in impatience. The CEO reached out her hand, caressing Revista's tense jaw, providing the Capitalist's Soothing Touch to maintain the man's sanity.
"Now we enter the confiscation phase," Stephanie whispered right in front of Revista's face. "Go down there. Crush their morale, take down anyone who gets in your way, but do not damage those cannons. They are my future factory machines. Can you do that for me?"
With a direct order—and a gentle touch—from Stephanie, Revista's red eyes flashed with absolute devotion and ferocity.
"I will bring those machines to you. Without a single scratch," Revista growled.
Without further ado or preparation, Revista immediately stepped forward and free-fell from the top of the 15-meter-high wall.
The giant, black-auraed body fell like a meteor.
CRAAAASH!
The snowy ground in front of the enemy formation exploded, forming a ten-meter-wide crater. The shockwave from Revista's landing sent dozens of snow wolves cavalry in the front row flying into the air.
From behind the cloud of snow dust, Revista's silhouette slowly rose. The searing heat melted the surrounding snow into steam. His glowing red eyes pierced the fog, glaring at the thousands of troops in front of him as if they were nothing but a pile of worthless minced meat.
"T-The Cursed Prince!" screamed one of the Paladins, his voice cracking from the terror squeezing his lungs. "H-He's still alive! And his aura... this is a Tier 1 Abyssal aura!"
Sir Vaelin, trying to salvage his pride, spurred his snow wolf forward. "Do not retreat! He is only one man! Kill the monster!"
Sir Vaelin leaped off his wolf, swinging his greatsword coated in a Tier 3 knight aura straight at Revista's neck.
However, to Revista, the elite knight's movement looked as slow as a crawling snail.
Without shifting his feet a single inch, Revista casually raised one hand and caught the steel blade barehanded.
CRACK.
The Vane family's proud steel sword shattered into pieces within the grip of Revista's palm.
Before Sir Vaelin could even react, Revista's other hand shot out, completely gripping the knight's face, and with one brutal slam, smashed Sir Vaelin's head into the frozen ground until his steel helmet was severely dented. The Capital's elite knight lost consciousness instantly, sprawling like a broken doll.
The Capital troops and the Paladins retreated in unison, their faces turning white. Their strongest knight had just been taken down in less than two seconds without any meaningful resistance.
Revista stood tall, licking the blood splatter from the corner of his lips. He raised his face, staring straight at Inquisitor Zephyr who was now trembling on his horse.
"Leave those magic cannons," Revista's voice echoed heavy and deadly, sweeping the entire battlefield like a decree from the god of death. "And all of you, kneel... or die."